


Handyman, Chapter 1 ~Love in an Elevator~

by Sakurthigh



Category: BUCK-TICK
Genre: Alcohol, Dark Comedy, J-ROCK Band, Masturbation, Other, Possession, Visual Kei
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23375614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakurthigh/pseuds/Sakurthigh
Summary: Possession is 9/10ths of the law... especially when you’re possessed by a lyric composing muse who’s a kitsune- a trickster fox spirit that exacts payment through pleasure... at the most awkward moments.
Relationships: Atsushi Sakurai/his hand
Kudos: 5





	Handyman, Chapter 1 ~Love in an Elevator~

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter of a novel fic was originally written and published by myself to LiveJournal on October 23, 2012, and has been imported to Archive of Our Own to preserve it.
> 
> It was an entry in a fic community’s kink challenge, that had a list of kinks that you had to work from. It was particularly difficult, because the list was on the harsh or grotesque side, but I wanted to explore it while retaining the fresh youthful feel of BUCK-TICK in their early career. 
> 
> I never completed the challenge, but the few chapters I did complete were fun and still worth sharing. 
> 
> This first prompt was an urban legend fetish that isn’t real: “kokigami”, the wearing of origami animal shaped... paper ornamental dick sleeves. How do you get a youthful, naive Sakurai to willingly walk around with a paper origami model on his dick, and not be strange? I couldn’t resist the challenge.
> 
> And what of his pairing? I wanted to experiment even further with this challenge... so I went outside the box, and chose his pairing to be one of his most familiar lovers: his own hand, but this time with a twist: it’s possessed. Not a standard pairing, but definitely not solo... desperate and very, very confused.

“There’s a rumor at school about this shack out in the woods, ’s more than an hour’s hike by foot to get there... an old woman lives there, with lots of cats. You can smell the wood smoke from the chimney about half way into the woods.”

“So? Like I give a damn if some old hag is...” one of the boys sitting around smoking started swaggering, but was interrupted.

“No- she’s different. They say she’s a witch that grants wishes!” Laughter filled the room, and he got upset. “It’s true! I overheard it at lunch, sitting outside!” The laughter grew louder, and some guy he’d never met propped himself up on his elbow and said, “Tch! Man, you’ll buy anything.”

The party at Imai’s broke up not long afterwords- it was a school night, and they were close to graduating, not a time to screw things up by being out late. Atsushi walked home, and contemplated the future. What next? A few of the guys were talking about getting serious with the band they’d been messing around with, but it just wasn’t taking shape. He knew Imai had been watching a lot of performances on TV and music videos, trying to glean techniques without paying for guitar lessons. He’d even thought of getting a lefty guitar so he could mirror them directly without getting confused... but that’s a long way from making a living.

Several parties later they graduated, each going their separate ways. A couple of the guys took off to Tokyo to try get their toes in to the big city- they weren’t much better than they were that night, but that didn’t dissuade them from going. This was it, it was over. “I’m stuck here, and life is going to move on without me.”

He remembered that dumb-assed dude’s story about the witch in the woods- every town had similar tales cooked up by the local teenagers, passed down as a legacy each year to the new kids for laughs. Some of them believed, but most had their heads on straight. He’d put his ear to the ground however, and it fleshed out the tale. There was a path about half a kilometer away from the bike stand near the old sports field that supposedly took you in the right direction, and then you had to risk going through the underbrush without a path to get to the cabin, going by the scent of woodsmoke alone.

“Tch! I must be loosin’ it.” Atsushi mumbled to himself, kicking a rock that was in the driveway.

**************************************

He held up the strange dirty glass bottle, showing it to the others. “What the fuck?!” “Hey! Let me see it!” Drunken hands tried to snatch it away, but he held it firmly out of reach overhead, and Hide and U-ta toppled over each other in the small private room they’d been drinking in.

“WATCH THE RAMEN! Fuck, man!” roared Imai, who up to that point had been trying to play it cool while the others roughhoused- they were buzzed up on too much shochu and Hide’s elbow almost landed in his dish. A few years their elder, Toll knew it was only a matter of time before the rough shit started, so he’d just found himself a nice corner early on to keep clear and laughed as his younger brother made a fool of himself and fell face first on the floor. Atsushi tucked the bottle safely back into his jacket’s inner breast pocket.

“Idiots.” Imai tried to hide a smile, but was doing a terrible job at it. Hide got back up out of the tangled heap and straightened his shirt back down. “Oh we’re idiots, are we? Sounds like it’s time to prove it!” He paused, not sure if that made any sense, and Toll snickered. Hide’s face reddened. “Whatever. You know what I meant. Man up! It’s challenge time!” Moans went around the room. “Hey, Imai! You first! If you fail, you have to drink.”

Toll poured out another shot of shochu and plunked it on the table in front of Imai, then Hide grabbed a bottle of Thai hot red pepper sauce, and slathered it thickly over a salt roasted fish. “Eat. If you choke, you drink!” Imai ate it in two bites and gave a haughty look at Hide, then downed the shot of shochu as well. Everyone cheered, but U-ta said “Your challenge was too easy, Hide. My turn! My turn! Atsushi! You’re next for holding out and not letting us see that magic potion crap.”

U-ta riffled through a nylon duffel bag full of papers- sheet music and notes from the studio earlier- pulled out a blank sheet of chord chart paper, and started folding. Toll looked over his shoulder and his eyes went wide. “You’re not going to... “ then started laughing. “Oh god- I haven’t seen one of those since junior high school! I can’t believe you still remember how to make those damned things.”

Atsushi looked nervous and waited, unsure of what was going on. He knew it had to be something evil, but he wasn’t friends with them back then and came from different a different social circle, so he was stumped when U-ta shoved a strange looking misshapen origami cat across the table at him. It had a huge hole for its ass end- it was shaped almost like a tube of toilet paper, and covered in tiny grids of boxed lines for writing bass chords down. “Put it on.”

“What the fuck is that?!” 

Toll went into hysterics at that point, clutching his sides and falling over laughing, and U-ta could barely speak himself, but when he was finally was able to answer he said, “We started making these things back when we were kids, after learning about ukiyo-e woodblock print censorship in school. There used to be a lot of erotic imagery, and then it was outlawed... so animals were used to cover up the parts not allowed to be shown. But hey, who doesn’t want to have a duck dick, right? So... put it on.” Toll howled and gasped for air; they were lucky the proprietors hadn’t come in and asked them to quiet down.

Atsushi finally picked it up. “That’s not a duck, it’s got cat ears!” Imai couldn’t help himself, and joined in laughing. “So? You’ve had girls waiting in line to do you after the shows the past several months since we put out ‘HURRY UP MODE’- we were there. You can’t tell us you’re not into pussy. What’s one more?”

“Ooh! Fuck you too, man.” Atsushi gave him the middle finger, “I can’t believe you guys are making me do this.” and started to laugh in spite of himself. His head spun. Whoa. “OK- I’m doing this, and then I’m out of here.”

“Where’s the camera? Where’s the camera?!” U-ta scrambled for his bag. Imai gestured towards the paper tube-cat. “You’d better do it fast, or you’re going to find shots of your ass in that thing in the fan club publication.” Sakurai made like he was about to stand up, but grabbed Imai and gave him a titty-twister instead. “Ow ow ow! Stop! You’re wasting time.” Imai grinned and smacked his hand away. “Unless you know for sure that he doesn’t have the camera with him, I’d suggest you get to it.”

“You just want to see me in it because you know I’ll make it look hot.” Atsushi flipped his hair exaggeratedly (a rare thing to have a chance to have it down hairspray-free any more) then stood, wiggled his rear-end provocatively, then dropped his jeans to his knees and jammed the thing on. A cheer went up in the room, and he preened his hair again, and bowed. “Satisfied?”

****************************************

Sakurai walked out into the cool fall night time air and breathed it in, sighing. Around him Shibuya was busy with club hoppers, couples, and business men in suits but still offered some privacy, so he took his time and enjoyed the relative quiet. It felt good after being overheated from the stifling small room and alcohol he’d had.

It had been a few years he’d gotten that strange bottle of goo in the woods, and had never dared open it. Likely if it wasn’t outright poisonous, it was spoiled from sitting and rotting for so long. He wouldn’t have mentioned it to the other guys at all, but he’d had it with him in his pocket for the past few nights, and his thoughts slipped out while he was drunk- a part of him had been contemplating its worth, and he’d voiced it. They were a signed band now, out of the indies very quickly, and starting work on their first album, and he wanted more involvement in it. Singing was not enough.

He’d written music for one of the songs on their indie album and decided that was not his thing... but lyrics- that he could relate to... or wanted to, at least. He wanted to be heard, and wanted it to be his own thoughts people were hearing, not someone else’s. Imai did the majority of the lyrics and tunes the last time, and it didn’t feel authentic for him... and this little bottle, though a long shot, offered the answer.

The “witch in the woods” actually claimed she was one when asked, which took him by surprise. He’d arrived at her little house just as he was about to turn around and give up... and she looked like she’d been waiting for him.

She divined his destiny and knew quite a bit about him... yet told him little of things to come... then after much fanfare and what sounded like an ancient 31 syllable poem that made his heart pound and want to hear more, she handed him this thing. He’d never even pulled the stopper on it to see what it smelled like, Sakurai realized.

He tilted the bottle and looked at it in the light from the facade of one of Shibuya’s small live performance venues that he was walking past, and the contents slowly ran to the other side, as if it were thick syrup. A popping spark of pale spring green colored light from within the bottle burnt his retinas like a halogen light, and he looked around in the dim light to see if someone had recognized him. Was someone photographing him drunk, in hopes of selling it to a tabloid? He moved too fast, and it felt like the sidewalk beneath his drunken feet was a block of styrofoam floating on ocean waves... but no one was there.

Delicate spring green sparkled in his hand again, and cherry-rose pink. He shivered, and the fine hair on the back of his neck stood up. The stopper came out with a little wiggling, and the fine grating sound of satiny crystal against crystal. He sniffed it: thick, ozone-y sweet benzoin and roses, and something dark that he didn’t recognize... and sweet black cherries. Pure decadence. Was it edible? It didn’t smell like it had spoiled, at least.

He had to try it. That aroma was like desire itself in a bottle, and the part of himself that wanted a thrill would not let him back down. His heart started to pound just like the moment he heard that strange poetry, and a fine vapor was curling from the bottle’s neck. He could hear her, hear it all again, just as if she were there! The bottle was upside down in an instant- and for such a thick syrup, it poured like a delicate cordial, and was gone in one swallow. 

Warmth spread from his belly to his chest, and his lips felt a thrill of wanton sensuality. He cried out, gasping. Spring green and rose colored flashes were all around now, like a sphere full of champagne bubbled light, and desire like he’d never experienced before crashed over him. His left hand’s fingertips circled his nipple through his shirt once or twice, then slipped down and cradled his crotch. His cock was beginning to wake up from its slumber, and twitched as he ground his hips into his hand.

Atsushi darted his gaze around, praying no one had seen what he’d done. He could see the tabloids now- not big enough a celebrity for the front page, but his arrest for drunken indecent behavior at the edge of Dōgenzaka alone would definitely be scandal enough to get him a paragraph at least on page 7. There goes their big chance- their new album, before it was even finished. His hand continued to caress his cock through his jeans. “STOP! STOP! Please, STOP!” ...but it wouldn’t. He tried to pull his hand away, but it resisted, yanking back. What the hell?!

He was hard as iron; he needed to come, and his hand would not let up. He made a lurching dash for the hill and the first love hotel was packed. SHIT! The next one had a lobby with a front desk- no fuckin’ way. I can’t be seen like this. No, no, he passed two, three more of the small love hotels, all full. He came to the sign for a gaudy, brightly colored hotel that had its “vacancy” light on, and it looked like there was no desk. PERFECT, I’LL TAKE IT.

He blasted through the front door with too much force, and the heavy glass rattled in its frame. Panting and sweating, he selected the closest lit room, and slammed at the elevator button with his fist... while his other hand continued to go to town on his lower half. He tried to force his hand to stop, but it still wouldn’t. This was starting to scare the crap out of him.

Ding! The elevator door slid open, and closed so slowly, it felt deliberate. COME ON!! He poked at the “door close” button until he bent his finger backwards and hurt it. “Shit! Ow!” he shook his hand in pain, but his other hand kept on going. “I’m not going to make it,” he thought, feeling his testicles already pulled up tight. After checking to see if there was a security camera, his injured hand landed flat on the “stop elevator” button, and the elevator car bumped to a halt between floors.

Sakurai tore into his jeans, tugging open the button fly front in one yank and resting his sweating forehead on his arm, propped over his head on the mirrored elevator wall. His hand took over- it felt completely different from when he’d jerked himself off before- almost like someone else was doing it, but masterfully so. It knew him like no one else could... but... maybe it’s just all the shochu, but he didn’t think he was doing this by choice.

The sound of labored breathing echoed in the small confines, odd and tinny with only hard surfaces to reflect it back to his ears. Perspiration formed rivulets from his hairline, and his blonde bobbed hair clung into it. He gave in to the maddened stroke-stroke-stroking and flowed with it, his body starting to undulate with erotic longing. Sweat dripped into his eyes and it stung, but he didn’t care. He tasted it as he licked his lips, slid his perspiration damp cheek on his forearm, and his forehead bumped into the mirror, swinging strands of hair that clung to the glass. His hand clawed at the glass, squeaking through his own sweat then grabbing, and his other hand pumped its final strokes.

Cum hit the mirror with incredible force, rocking him with an orgasm like being a sex starved teenager seeing his first illicit swiped girlie mag all over again, though those years were behind him. He tried to be quiet but it was impossible, and roared as he shook; his hand that had been clawing at the mirror balled into a fist.

The hand that had been calling the shots finally fell limply at his side, and he huffed and panted, trying to get his breath under control. “Shit. The mirror’s all fucked up.” His shirt hem wasn’t sufficient to clean up the mess that was dripping its way down the wall. His breath was still gasping and ragged, but he laughed. “That’s why it’s solid mirrorin here- easy clean up.” Manic giggles took over, stoned on his own endorphins. “Holy shit... that was one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had. Pffft!!!” Laughing and laughing. Ding! and the elevator door swept open. An older man and a girl with a pleated uniform skirt that was rolled up at the waist to hike it short made their way onto the elevator and he quickly ducked out, not even bothering to check if it was his floor or not. He dared not look up and show his face.

“Eww! Pervert! Gross!”, the door closed just as the girl realized what he’d been doing in there. The mirror was a mess and it stank of male sex. “Pfftt!” Giggles wracked through him once again, and he wiped tears from his eyes.

****************************************

He was laying on the bed in the room he got, finally coming down from the euphoria, and looked at the clock. He’d been here for 2 hours already, and couldn’t remember it. He’d jerked off again, he thought, but wasn’t sure. He stretched, and his hand landed in a gigantic icy spot on the sheets. Yep. “God, I must have been drunk.”

Atsushi sat up and took personal inventory. Other than feeling a little drained from one hell of a rush of hormones, he felt fine. More than fine... there was barely a hint of the feeling of having been drunk enough to loose it like that. He got up and grabbed a glass of water to be on the safe side, and looked around in his pockets for something to munch on. Nori senbei- that’ll do- and tore the sealed plastic. Crunch, crunch; he stared and ate the small bag of sweet-salty rice crackers, and sat on the end of the bed.

I’m OK now... so what the hell was that? Maybe it was that potion shit... was it drugged? That didn’t seem quite right either- only two hours had passed, and he felt alright, actually, better than he should have. He licked his fingertip and stuck it into the corner of the bag to snag a stray piece of nori from the empty bottom, then sucked the sticky soy sauce residue off, cleaning his fingers. The clear plastic snack bag crackled as it was crushed and thrown into a nearby trash can and tried to regain its original shape, resistant to being wadded up.


End file.
